


Doting on Special Ones

by ThePaintedScorpionDoll



Series: Scenes from a War-Forged Courtship [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aeron Tabris, Alistair/Aeron, F/M, Tabristair - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePaintedScorpionDoll/pseuds/ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it feels only slightly easier than playing chess. (Now if only Aeron Tabris knew how to play chess...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doting on Special Ones

Neither one of them plays chess. Aeron has always lacked the patience for it and, though he knows the rules, Alistair says he lacks the talent to actually succeed at playing the game. This detail alone should make her pass on what she has found while wandering through this little secondhand store, but…

She tries to tell herself it has more to do with her appreciation for good craftsmanship. Aeron has always appreciated the well-made and the well-designed, and though she does not play chess, the game’s apparent popularity in Ferelden has led her to seeing several fine sets scattered and forgotten by those attempting to escape the Blight’s horrors. Whoever made the pieces sitting on this shelf put their love of crafting into creating them. They are made of some polished black stone speckled with silver marbling—Oghren, or maybe even Shale, would probably recognize the composition—and they have a noticeable weight when she picks them up. It is their shaping, however, that originally caught her attention. Whoever made these decided to give the simulated crowns of their heads a ring of gems and matching stylized suns, the rays of each featuring circles decreasing in size as they reach the point.

“Strange.”

“See somethin’ y’like?” The shopkeeper is a human, old enough that her hair is gray near the temples. Aeron holds up the chess pieces. “Ah, those. From an incomplete set someone brought in; other pieces were either broken’r’missin’, but th’fella needed anythin’ he could get for’em, so—”

“Seems like everyone is hurting for money these days.”

“Troubled times’ll do that.” The shopkeeper shrugs. “In any case, been keepin’em there on the shelf, thinking I’d try sellin’em as fig’erines. Ain’t no one take’n’terest ‘til you, I don’t think. Most’r’lookin’ for a full set.”

“I suppose…”

“Now, as I recall—” The older woman points to the piece ringed with rubies. “—that one’s the king. Other one’s the queen. Think the letters are engraved on the bottom’r’somewhere…”

The Warden finds the latter case to be true, tilting it towards the light in order to better see a delicate _K_ engraved in the very center of the one encrusted with rubies. A _Q_ sits in the same place on the other chess piece, overseeing the ring of sapphires of its crown. They are certainly beautiful. Curious to look at, undoubtedly, but out of place among the much more practical clothing and furniture filling most of the secondhand shop’s space. Oh, true, there are also boxes of games and toys for children, but how practical are these without their board or fellow pieces? No, these…

Aeron Tabris does not play chess, no, and they would be just as out of place on her person, if not more so.

But…

“How much?”

The shopkeeper blinks. “Pardon?”

“For these chess pieces,” Aeron says. “How much?”

“Forgive me for sayin’so, but I ain’t fig’ered a Warden for playin’ chess, ‘specially with the Blight breathin’ down all’r’necks.”

“You’d be right in figuring,” she answers, “but I am partial to good craftsmanship and I’ve been keeping an eye out for a gift.”

To this, the shopkeeper’s eyes go bright and knowing behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “I ain’t fig’ered a Warden for havin’ time to dote on special ones.”

It certainly wasn’t part of the plan, but it might be one of the better unexpected occurrences to happen since leaving the alienage. The older woman lets her take them for a handful of silvers, both of them aware that she is underselling, given their design. Aeron walks out into the busy center of Denerim, the chess pieces cool and smooth in her hands. It never ceases to amaze her how people continue to go about their day even with the threat of a civil war _and_ total annihilation hanging over their heads. Then again, maybe there is something comforting in keeping a routine, and what else can they do? They aren’t soldiers, aren’t mages or even Wardens. Their routine is all they have.

“Aeron!” It’s Alistair, approaching from the marketplace with a sack in hand. “There you are, my love.”

“Here I am.” She smiles as they fall into step together. “Did you get everything?”

“Almost. The essentials are covered, but Morrigan can buy her own damn supplies if she wants them so badly. I’m not about to endure the looks I got the last time she gave me a list.” He frowns. “I almost suspect she was having me on. Some of the ingredients were… _strange_.”

Aeron shakes her head. “I should really talk to her about that…”

“It’ll probably only encourage her,” Alistair answers. “I don’t need that. She might start to get creative.”

“You know she only does it because she still gets a reaction out of you,” she tells him.

“ _You_ try not having a reaction when she hides in the bushes and turns into a spider during your shift on evening watch!”

“That was _one time_ , Alistair!”

“Giant. Spider. _In the middle of the night._ ” Alistair shakes his head. “I didn’t sleep well for three days.”

Aeron props on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Poor Warden.”

“That’s more like it.” He looks at her, notices the items in her hands. “What’re those?”

“Hm? Oh! A, uh, a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Mm-hm. Well, one of them, anyway. The other one’s for me.” Aeron hands her fellow Warden the sapphire-ringed chess piece. She watches him turn it about in his hand, tilting it the way she did so he can see the engraving.

“Chess pieces?”

“Mm-hm.”

“It’s the queen.”

“Yes.”

“And is that the king there, in your hand?” Alistair asks.

Aeron nods, suddenly feeling somewhat sheepish. The trinket disappears into her coin purse. “I, uh, ducked into this little secondhand shop after restocking on the preventative… Maybe I got a little sentimental.”

“Sentimental! What a startling prospect!” Alistair smiles widely.

The Elf nudges his shoulder. “I was just… I don’t know. I saw them in the store, and they were beautiful, and I… _may_ have remembered how you called me your queen the last time we were in bed together—”

“Yes, well, I—” He clears his throat, hastily glancing around as if worried about eavesdroppers. “As I recall, you were quite partial to it, as well as to calling me—”

“The point _is_ ,” Aeron says with a touch of hurriedness, “I saw them on the shelf and they…reminded me of us.”

“Did they.”

“Yes. So I bought them.”

“Aha.” His smile returns as he looks at the chess piece again. “I see.”

“I don’t know! It was purely impulse! I don’t really… I don’t know. I’m not very good at—” Aeron shakes her head. She feels warmth spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “Romance, gift-giving, doting… It’s all beyond me, Alistair, but I wanted to try. Turns out I’m much better at stabbing darkspawn.”

“Oh, now, that’s not true,” Alistair says, pocketing the chess piece. “You’re good at other things, too!”

“Oh, am I?”

“Lots of things.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders. “Some of them, I can’t even list in polite company.”

Aeron looks up at him. “You know, I’m _also_ pretty good at putting princes in their place when they decide to get cheeky.”

And rather than look at her uncomfortably (as he so often does to anyone who brings it up), Alistair laughs, free and sweet, and presses a little kiss into her hair. “Of course, you are, my queen.”


End file.
